among strangers and friends
by tonystarktheautobot
Summary: Racain Mahariel has a difficult time adjusting to human society and culture early on in the quest. After a disastrous trip to Lothering, Alistair comforts her. (Trans Woman Warden, Alistair/Warden)


"Those people were, what have you said, 'highwaymen'?"

"Highwaymen, yes." Alistair nodded his head. Side by side, he walked with the Warden recruit, Racain Mahariel, into Lothering.

The elf's eyes narrowed in confusion. "So they guard the high ways, these - stone paths? And we are meant to pay them this coin for so doing?"

"Uh, no, they," Clearing his throat, the man continued. "They're robbers, they steal on the highway."

"Steal? As bandits do?" Racain's eyes went wide. "They would do so to their own people?"

"Well, yes," The man shrugged. "That's what bandits do. Don't the Dalish have trouble with them sometimes?"

"Oh." The younger Warden frowned. "I had always assumed we were attacked for being who we are."

Oh, indeed. Alistair gnawed at his lip, fighting for something to say. But as he turned to try and change the subject, he found his partner in conversation was no longer there. No, Racain was halfway back up the path already, having turned round to stomp back towards the bandits they'd left cowering in the road. Alistair could hear angry elvish from all the way at the bottom of the hill, and the literal sparks were already flying. With a sigh, his hand flew to his sword.

It had been an interesting journey thus far, what with the ill-tempered apostate from the Wilds, the former Dalish, blind elven mage, and the Warden who'd only been one for half a year, all trekking through the muddy wilderness together. Not to mention the wolf that went everywhere Racain did, a fluffy greyish white girl named Faol. It was a motley crew, and it was the crack team that was meant to save Ferelden.

We'll be lucky if we survive getting into town, Alistair thought dryly. Beside him was Racain once more, though now covered in blood and who knew what else. They were almost on the edge of Lothering when Alistair held up a hand.

"What is it now?" Morrigan griped behind them, crossing her arms. At her feet, Faol sat and scratched behind her ear, not at all concerned with the fate of their journey or the world that rested on their shoulders. Lucky dog.

"Look, just give us a minute, it's - Warden stuff," Alistair gently walked Racain away from her, far enough to have a quiet discussion.

The mage was a good head and a half shorter than Alistair, though about as broad shouldered and muscular. She certainly was no warrior, but she had a strong physical body, covered in scars and scratches from the wilderness she once called home. Deep brown skin was marked with crimson red tattoos across her arms, upper back, and face, twisted and curling in an intricate language Alistair couldn't read. She had a prominent nose, full lips, sharp cheekbones, and messy silver hair which fell short against her neck and flew every which way. Most stunning were her strange eyes, yellowish gold which almost seemed to glow, and always looked to be seeing something just beyond, in the distance.

"What is?" Racain asked him, and Alistair realized he'd become distracted. She had a fine face; who could blame him? A fine voice as well, even and filled with the confident ease of one used to be listened to. Granted, the elf's speech patterns were a little - odd, but then, she'd spent most of her life isolated from the rest of the world. It was to be expected.

"Listen, it's - as a Warden, I'm a little more - in touch with other cultures." Alistair started wringing his hands. "But, that's not to say all humans are like that."

A frown was slowly growing on Racain's face. She crossed her arms. "Something is wrong. I can tell, your voice is doing the up-and-down thing."

Sighing, Alistair rubbed the back of his head. "Fereldans, they have specific ideas of, uh... of what people are. Aaaaand... they'regoingtoassumeyouraman."

Racain blinked. "They will think what?"

Another sigh, heavier than the last. "The humans will think you are a man. In fact, they'll insist your one, even if you say otherwise?"

Shocked, the elf's mouth dropped open. "What? They believe this?" A red flush came to her face. "I... why?"

"Humans think gender is, well... it's... hard to explain." Gritting his teeth, Alistair fought to find a better explanation. Oh, what he wouldn't give for his fellows back home... for Duncan's guidance... they'd explained all this so much better when he'd joined up. "They think all women have, uhm, breasts. Since you don't, they... think you're a man."

"I have breasts." Racain's hands flew to her chest, to the flat pecks so conveniently revealed by her cropped mage uniform. She began squeezing them, as if to prove that yes, they were really there. "You see? I have them."

Alistair flushed red to his ears. "Yes I know I - I mean breasts, like - like Morrigan. You know? And... other things. They just - humans will look at you and think you are a man. I'm really sorry, I just thought you should know."

For a moment, Racain just stood there, pitiful frown in place, holding her chest as if she were affronted. The moment passed; her hands dropped, the frown became a scowl, and she turned and began stomping into town while muttering quiet, irritated elvish beneath her breath. Alistair bit his lip.

"Uh, Racain?" The man raised a hand towards her. "What are you...?"

"I am going into town!" She shouted back to him. "I am going to get it over with. We buy supplies, find information, and we leave and camp somewhere in the woods where the world makes sense and there are no foolish shems there!" Then, she hesitated, glancing back at both Morrigan and Alistair, who were simply watching her with mixed expressions of shock, confusion, and amusement. "Save for you two. You may come." And so she continued into town, and Faol leapt up, hot on her heels.

* * *

"What is this?" Racain frowned heavily at the salesman, who had a fierce scowl on his own ugly mug. "You are a merchant, yes? You trade supplies for coin?"

"This man is charging scandalous prices of these poor folk who have nothing!" Alistair winced at the almost shrill cry of the Chantry priest.

"I'm just an honest businessman trying to earn some coin!"

Racain's face took on a ruby hue. "These are your people! They starve, and struggle, and you are - what is the word?"

Already regretting it, Alistair mumbled, "Swindling."

"Yes, that! You are without any honor! A clan cannot survive without helping one another! How will you survive when all these others are gone and you have no one left to swindle?"

"Are we truly going to interfere in every little town squabble?" Morrigan griped, arms crossed behind them. Racain didn't seem to hear her.

It sure did look that way; and while Alistair hated to agree with Morrigan, it seemed every time she got involved in these disputes, Racain grew more and more stressed.

"These poor souls have lost all things!"

"Everything," Morrigan said.

"Every thing," Racain repeated, "And no one would help them for being elves? Why, I should not be surprised. Humans continue to disappoint me."

"Welcome to the club," Her fellow mage retorted, "Though I question why we had to give that family every coin on us?"

"They were in need!"

"And now, so are we!"

Alistair gave a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping. "Look, it's not so bad. We can earn more coin pretty easy, much easier than them."

"Oh, sure," Morrigan muttered. "Though we will not keep it if we continue throwing it aside left and right. Not just the family of elves, but that boy as well?"

"His mother was dead!"

"And you had to point that out rather blatantly," Alistair mumbled with a hand pressed to his forehead. When he opened his eyes, he found Racain staring at him, wide eyed. Sweat built on his brow. "... yes?"

"Did I do something wrong?"

"Oh - no! It's just..." Alistair waved his hands in submission. "Well... I might have been more gentle about it." Racain blinked. Alistair gave a sigh. "Nevermind."

* * *

The doors to the Chantry slammed shut behind them.

"I do not understand," Racain scowled, arms crossed. "I was told the Chantry believed in repentance and forgiveness. Does that not count for us non-humans, then?"

"I think it might have had something to do with you calling their Maker a 'shem fairytale'," Morrigan snorted. A sly smirk came to her face. "Not that I disagree."

"I'm sorry, Racain," Alistair stepped closer to her, hand half raised as if to touch her shoulder. He hesitated. Would that be appropriate? Would she be upset if he touched her so familiarly? "I... wish we could do something."

The man didn't have to make a decision, after all; Racain had already walked out of his reach. "We can do something," She shouted back. The elf broke into a run. Faol gave a happy bark and took after.

"Oh, no," The color drained from Alistair's face, his hand falling to his side. "I don't like where this is going."

"Excuse me?"

The Grey Warden turned and winced at the sight of another Chantry sister, this one a short haired red head with a benign smile. "I - sorry, Sister, we'll keep moving -"

"Oh, no, I am not here to berate you," She held up her hands. "I was wondering if you were the Grey Warden party I have heard so much of?"

Surprised, Alistair hesitated. "Well, yes. And you...?"

Their conversation halted at the sound of enraged elven screams across the town. "Uh - hold that thought," Alistair took off running, Morrigan hot on his heels and, of course, laughing, just to annoy him further. That seemed to be Morrigan's calling in this life, annoying him and making snide comments.

They found her with her staffed aimed at the prison of a very concerned Qunari, who showed his concern with wide eyes, a creased brow, and a barely raised voice. "Are you certain you know what you're doing?"

"I surely do," Racain narrowed her gaze at the bright trail of magic whispering out of her staff and weaving into the lock. "My cousin Thuleka invented this spell, I've been practicing it for quite some time -"

"Practicing it?"

"Yes, and I almost have it, now if you would stand back,"

"Do you see room in this cage to stand back?"

"And do be quiet, so I may concentrate - "

The cage exploded.

"Holy mother - Racain!" Hands thrown over his face, Alistair peered through the smoke. "Are you alright?" He rushed forward and found the mage grinning at the crumpled lock on the ground.

"See! It works!" Suddenly, the mage was dragged to her feet by a large hand, blackened by soot.

"Perhaps," The furious Qunari muttered close to Racain's ear, "You may want to continue practicing that spell."

Alistair immediately drew his sword. "Put her down!" He ignored the irritated muttering of the Wilds mage behind him, something about 'foolish displays of bravado' and 'idiotic templars'.

"Why do you complain?" The elf put on a soft pout. "I could have left you in the cage."

"You blew it up with me in it!"

"The escape may have been less than ideal -"

"You call this less than ideal?"

"Pardon the interruption," Leliana raised her hands, calling attention to herself for the first time. "But I do believe the Templars are on their way here now, and we may not wish to be here when they arrive."

Racain stared at the newcomer, still held in Sten's enormous hand, and pointed at her. "Who is she?"

* * *

By the time they left Lothering, they had been chased, accosted, yelled at, stared at, kicked out of more places than Alistair could count, and by the end of it, had no more information than they'd had before. Not that it was all Racain's fault; but clearly the Warden was suffering for lack of the training the Wardens should have provided her, were their situation not so ... grim.

Still, that just meant it was Alistair's duty to explain things to Racain, things like you can't just tell a child that their mother is dead without softening the blow! And you can't mouth off to the Revered Mother, even if she is being a rude stick in the mud; and you can't just blow up cages and steal away Chantry prisoners just because you don't like how the Chantry's acting!

If this was how the whole trip was going to go, they'd be making enemies of the whole country soon enough.

So that night, after they'd made camp and set up arrangements for all their new companions and tagalongs, Alistair set out to find his fellow Warden and discuss the subject. The problem was, he couldn't seem to find her anywhere. Racain wasn't in her tent, she wasn't by the campfire... so where was she? Frowning, Alistair felt the frustration and ire that had been building throughout the day slowly coming to a head, boilling up inside him. He was not an easy man to anger but lately it seemed everything had been going wrong.

But then... he was the senior Warden, wasn't he? Maybe it was his fault. Maybe Morrigan was right, and he'd put too much on a younger recruit, with so little knowledge of Ferelden culture... It was with those thoughts in mind that he finally happened to stumble upon the Warden, entirely by chance. Alistair's eyes went wide as he caught her silllohuete in the corner of his vision. Shocked, he came to a halt.

"Oh, there you are," He turned to approach her and hesitated again. Suddenly he took in her appearance; slouched with hunched shoulders, sitting on a fallen log with her face in her hands. When she looked up, he saw glistening trails of tears falling down her face.

* * *

If Racain Mahariel had had her way, she'd never have left the Dalish her whole life. Yes, she knew that most of her family had chosen to leave the clans decades ago - that her mother had walked off into the woods and vanished the day she was born - but that was fine. She had no desire to go after them. The clan was home, the clan was family. She never wanted for anything more.

Suffice to say that leaving was the worst day of her life.

Not only had she lost Tamlen, she'd lost everything. And she would never get it back. Even after becoming a Grey Warden, she could never return to the Clan and simply settle with them again. She had a duty, now. No matter what happened, being Dalish was part of the past for her.

At first, she was brutally disappointed and upset, but determined to see it through with a smile. Surely it would be something of an adventure? As much as she missed home, she was curious about the outside world. She'd never seen a human city. She'd never met a dwarf or a Qunari, never met a mage who wasn't Dalish. Racain had comforted herself with the thought that while she might have been losing something, she was gaining something new.

It was with that hope that the new Warden recruit had approached Lothering. It had seemed nice enough, from afar. Of course, the closer you got, the worse the smell... but then, that could be forgiven. It wasn't as if the Dalish were strangers to bad smells (Halla were quite pungent sometimes). Then there were the looks. People wouldn't stop staring at her. It was as if they hadn't seen an elf before! Rarely did they speak to her first, not a hello or a how do you do. And when they did speak, nothing made sense! They said things they didn't mean and meant things they never said. Half the time they'd walk away in an insulted fury and Racain would have no clue why.

Everyone seemed so miserable. They were all cold, and desperate, and looking to others for aid, while the better off around them just kept walking. No one cared. The sufferers went on, ignored. It was as if every person was an island of their own, uncaring of what went on around them that did not pertain directly to them.

Everything she did was wrong. No one was ever satisfied; if she helped someone, she was causing trouble, if she didn't intervene, she was being weak. Nothing was right, and half the time she had no idea why. Nothing made sense. The world was upside down but whenever she pointed it out everyone else stared at her as if she were the one acting mad.

"Oh, there you are,"

Stiffening, Racain's head flew up. Oh, Gods, no. The one person she really didn't want to see was standing four feet away, clearly in view. She stood quickly and wiped at her eyes.

"Ah, Alistair!" She wiped her hands on her clothes. "I am sorry, did you need me? I will return to camp -"

"Are... you okay?"

"Yes!" Forcing herself to smile, Racain lifted her head. "I am fine." Her words stumbled anyhow, and even to her, felt forced and fake. "Shall we move on?"

The man didn't move; she heard a sigh, and the shuffle of his feet. "Are you ..." Alistair cleared his throat. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"

Why was he being so nice? It would be much easier if he had just accepted her first denial and pretended what they both knew had just happened had not just happened. If he could just ignore the hiccup in her voice and the redness of her eyes they could move on. "Really, it's just -" She felt the cracks in her defenses growing with every hesitation. "It's nothing."

The man was quiet for a moment, and she wondered if he'd drop it. "It doesn't look like nothing." Then, to her surprise, he began stepping away. "But okay. If - that's what you want." Shocked, she lifted her head. The kindness and sincerity in his words were enough to shatter whatever remained of her resolve. The woman gasped for air as she fell upon her fellow Warden and began to sob.

"I'm sorry," She muttered into him, further surprised when his thick arms came round him. "I'm not okay, I'm sorry -"

"Hey, hey, that's alright," Slowly, they slipped towards the ground, Alistair's hand running up her back. "It's alright, I'm here."

She had no idea how long she cried, though it felt like an age. She kept on until her sobs turned to sniffles and her eyes sore and dry. A sense of peace settled into her gut even as she felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment. Racain raised her head. "I'm sorry, I should not have -"

"I'm the one who should be sorry." Alistair sighed and she felt it tickle her bangs. "I've been so wrapped up in my own troubles I never stopped to think about yours. And of the two of us, I'm rather certain you've got the most on your plate." He chuckled a bit. She felt a finger run across her temple, pushing her hair behind her ear.

"It is not your fault." She told him, sitting back. "I am just - tired." For a moment she just smiled at him. "Thank you, Alistair. I - needed that."

"Anytime. Seriously, if you ever need to talk - if you need anything - just tell me." He began to stand, and she followed suit, but when she moved her left foot it touched ground with nothing. There went her stability, and without her staff, she had nothing to steady herself with. Luckily, Alistair quickly grabbed her. "Hey, you okay?"

"Sorry," She chuckled nervously, embarrassed. "I am not used to navigating so blindly."

"Wait..." She felt his gaze on her. "I thought you were blind?"

"I am. Mostly." Racain shrugged. "I can see magic - spells and such. I do not understand it either." The woman giggled. "Back home, my clan used to cast spells that outlined the paths through our camp. I grew too reliant on them, it seems."

"I didn't know." The man sounded appalled, at what, she didn't know. "I'm sorry. This whole time, you had no idea - oh god. That's why you ..."

"Yes." Turning pink, Racain cleared her throat. "Luckily, the mud came out." Then she gave a groan. "What a disaster. I am no good at this."

"That's not true." Alistair insisted. "Trust me, you're better than you think. If I were the one making all the decisions, we would have left Lothering with an angry mob on our backs with the whole town on fire."

"Is that not what happened?"

He chuckled. A moment later, she felt him shift towards her. "I could, um..." He cleared his throat. "That is, would you like me to hold your hand? If that would help with - navigating, I mean, there's a lot of roots around here..."

The woman flushed, but couldn't help the grin spreading to her face. She reached towards where she heard him, felt armor, and a moment later, a hand took hold of hers. "I would like that." She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, with a chuckle. They began to walk, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, in that lazy, slow sort of way that sweethearts sometimes did. Halla were hopping around in Racain's stomach at the thought.

"Racain, do you - would you like me to take over?" Alistair asked her a moment later. "By all rights, I should be leading. I just... deferred to you because, well -"

"I understand." She shook her head. "It's alright. I do not mind leading - I was expected to at home, as well."

"Really?"

"Yes, I was training to be Keeper, that is, what would you humans call it? King, I think?"

"Whoa." He whistled. "Does that make you royalty?"

"Oh, no," Racain giggled. "We do not have such things. Though... my father was a Keeper, a long time ago."

"Ah, I see. So, you are a princess, then!"

"Alistair!" He laughed at her affronted tone. "I am just one of the People, that's all."

His voice softened. "You are not just anything, Miss Mahariel."

She couldn't help the sweet smile that came to her then. But almost as quickly, a kernel of doubt clouded that joyous warmth that had flooded her a moment before. She began to worry at her lip, catching it between her teeth as she thought through her fears. "Alistair?" She said a while later. "What you told me about the humans, how they - see me, ... are all humans like that?"

"You mean assuming you are a man? Well... I don't know. Fereldans are, I'm afraid."

"Are you?"

"What?"

She came to a halt; his hold on her hands didn't loosen, and so he was brought to a standstill, too. "Do you see me that way, too?"

"No, no!" She felt him turn, heard his feet scrape over the ground. "Listen, I'm - maybe once I thought like that. But when Duncan brought me to the Wardens, they taught me a lot, and I mean more than just how to kill Darkspawn and annoy the Chantry. Not that I needed lessons in that last one." Despite her nerves, Racain couldn't help but chuckle at that. "So I understand that's who you are. You're a woman and unless you tell me otherwise, I won't ever say you're anything different."

Relief flooded her then. But she still bit at her lip. "And you - that is... you like women?"

She could hear the surprise in his tone. "Well, yes."

For just a moment more she hesitated. "All women?"

He cradled her hand in both of his, and she felt her chest turn to flame. "All women, Racain."

"Oh." She giggled and grinned like a child, almost ready to fidget on her feet. "Well, that's good to know. For reference, that is."

"Yes well - um - what about you?" They began walking again, hand in hand.

"You mean, do I like women?"

"No I - well, I guess that's part of the question - but I meant well -"

"You mean, who do I like? Well. I do not know for certain."

"You don't?"

"I've only ever liked one person. He was my best friend."

"Oh."

"But, well," She smiled at him. "If I figure it out, I'll be sure to let you know."

She thought he might have smiled back at her, by his tone. "Good. I'd like that."

They returned to camp, together.


End file.
